Chapter Twelve — Rainy Days and Quiet Smiles
(Inara's pov)
The morning air was thick with the scent of rain, gray clouds hanging low over Hallowridge like they were guarding a secret. I tugged my hoodie tighter, wishing Naomi could somehow walk me to school and keep me from looking like a drowned kitten.
But I didn't have to worry about being alone. Elias was already waiting by the school gates, umbrella in hand, hair damp from the drizzle, that impossible grin of his lighting up even the dullest day.
"Thought you might need backup," he said, holding the umbrella toward me.
I shook my head, laughing. "You really are too good to me."
"Not good," he corrected, flashing that half-smirk I'd been helpless against for weeks. "Obsessive again."
I rolled my eyes, slipping under the umbrella. Somehow, the close space made my heart race in ways I didn't want to analyze in front of him.
At lunch, we headed to our usual quiet corner behind the music wing. The grass was wet from the morning rain, the smell of earth mixing with the faint scent of his cologne. I dropped my backpack, settling down next to him.
"Your chapter progress?" he asked, eyes twinkling.
"Better, thanks to your ridiculous ideas yesterday," I admitted, opening my notebook. "Though Elara is still an emotional mess."
"Like someone else I know," he teased, nudging my shoulder.
I shoved him lightly. "I'm nothing like her!"
"You are!" he said, laughing. "She's brave, clever, stubborn… she also makes me lose my mind in the best possible way."
My cheeks warmed, and I kept my eyes on my notebook, pretending I was deeply engrossed in Elara's latest dilemma.
We spent the lunch hour bouncing ideas back and forth, trading pencils, leaning a little too close over the same page. Every so often, our hands would brush — now intentional, now not, each touch sending a little jolt through me.
"So," he said, nudging a paragraph, "Elara's next line could use… more honesty. Maybe she's scared of what she's feeling, but she can't stop thinking about him."
I glanced up. "Sound familiar?"
He smirked. "Completely. But it's not cheating if it's fictional."
I laughed so hard that I almost spilled my juice. "I think our book is starting to read like a diary."
"Best kind of book," he said, and his hand brushed mine again. I didn't pull away.
After lunch, the rain had stopped, leaving the air fragrant and cool. We decided to walk home together, notebooks under arms.
The streets glistened from the drizzle, and Hallowridge looked like a soft watercolor painting — the kind I wanted to step into and never leave.
"I like rainy days," I said, glancing at him. "They make everything feel… possible."
"Or dramatic," he countered, nudging my shoulder. "Like maybe we're in one of those movies where two people are destined to say something important."
I snorted. "Are we?"
He looked down at me, something in his eyes softening, and I forgot how to answer.
A car passed too close to the curb, splashing water in a perfect arc. I squealed, and he grabbed my arm instinctively, steadying me.
"Careful," he said, voice low. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, laughing nervously. "That was… dramatic."
He grinned, still holding my arm. "Perfectly dramatic. Fits our story."
I looked up at him, heart racing. The space between us shrank, our hands brushing again as if by some magnetic force neither of us wanted to resist.
By the time we reached the corner where our paths diverged, the sky was turning gold and pink, the clouds breaking just enough to let the sunset shine through.
"Tomorrow?" he asked, voice soft, leaning just slightly closer than necessary.
"Tomorrow," I said, smiling, feeling a warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun.
We stood there for a moment, silent, just breathing, letting the world exist around us while we existed in that perfect, quiet bubble.
"Hey," he said suddenly, eyes bright, "you know our book? It's going to be amazing."
I nodded, fingers brushing his just once more before I turned to go. "Yeah. Just like… this."
The rest of the walk home, I couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of his hand, the soft brush of his shoulder, the way the rain had made the world feel infinite and small all at once.
And maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to let go of that feeling.
That night, I wrote again. Words tumbled out faster than I could keep up with, the rain-scented afternoon lingering in every sentence:
He makes ordinary days feel like magic. Every laugh, every touch, every shared glance — it's like writing my own story as it happens.
And for the first time, I didn't write about Elara alone. I wrote about him, about us.
Because by now, he wasn't just part of my story. He was the reason I wanted to keep writing it — and living it — forever.
End of Chapter Twelve